The Truth or the Consequences
by PassionsInsanity
Summary: She had come, unannounced, waltzing right into the vigorous world he had created. A short Eli Loker/OC series. Part THREE is now up! RENAMED.
1. He didn't ask her

She had come, unannounced, waltzing right into the vigorous world he had created.

Her eyes were like a mirror, reflecting all the hidden emotions he had fought against, trying to conceal, to forget, to ignore. He was fine. She showed him he was not.

She recalled the memories of disgust, contempt, shame and embarrassment. Everything about her was reminiscent of that he had been trying to force back into his cesspool of screaming agony. He had been pretending so hard, he could swear he fooled the radical honesty that made the words come out of his mouth. She walked in, saw right through him and painted all the forbidden feelings and thoughts on her face.

He knew, the second he was her, that she was trouble. That she was an artist, the Da Vinci of lying. He could, how, he was not sure. A sense, a feeling, a small hint that rapidly crawled into his brain like an ant sensing sugar. Perhaps that was why he felt attracted to her almost instantly. He could feel the words itch in his throat. Swallowing hard, he tried to push them back down into the abyss, back into the box of unspoken words and blinded thoughts.

There she was, coming closer. For a split second, he thought that her visit was only saved for Lightman, or Gillian even. But then she deviated, turned slightly in her long strides and headed into his direction. Her fierce, penetrating yet ambivalence eyes had found his stare, causing her to approach the already nervous researcher. He broke into a profuse sweat, his leg anxiously bobbing up and down as if dancing, the pen in his hands rhythmically hitting his desk as if drumming.

She opened the lab door and her phantom scent permeated his nostrils; roses and autumn rain. A rare combination, even for him, but he guessed that she reminded him of that. She parted her desirable red lips but before a words could emerge from her mouth, he interrupted her.

"I think I'm in love with you."

To his surprise riddled dismay, she flashed him a smile. He had wanted her to turn and run away. Perhaps scream at him before she fled, yelling and shouting what a weird, perverted man he was. Instead, she flashed him a surprised, but mostly amused smile. And he couldn't help it, he sought the truth. Eyebrows slightly raised, contraction of both the zygomatic major muscles (She has dimples…) and the orbicularis oculi muscles (Crow's feet around her dark, gorgeous eyes…), sparkle in his eyes. The truth. Genuine.

"Well, handsome, your name, phone number and the directions to Lightman's office please."

Her British accent was heavy and thick, the spoken words still reverberating in the room, the motion of air rippled against his skin like a cool hand caressing him.

"Uhm, second door on your right. Down the hall."

The exquisite Brit was halfway through her actions to turn and leave, when she didn't. She raised one corner of her mouth, seduction in her eyes, fascination on her face, as she turned herself back towards the still-gazing man.

"Didn't catch your name, love."

"It's Eli. Eli Loker."

"Well, Eli. Nice to meet you."

And with that, she finally turned and left, leaving the handsome Eli Loker baffled and astound, her dark green dress swirling with every (suave and sexy) move. Realisation hit him and made him jump up from his chair, knocking over his pencil jar in the process. He cursed and cursed again once his green eyes had found the figure of the woman, just turning around a corner.

Perhaps it was for the best; if Cal found him drooling over a friend (Or perhaps even an (ex-) lover… She's British after all…) he should have cleaned up his office weeks ago. Still. He didn't ask her (name).


	2. He didn't seduce her

Her skin was cool against his touch. The pads of his fingers traced lines only he could see, imagining forms that only he could follow. A few birthmarks decorated the skin on her back and he made it a game to circle around them in repeating order. Underneath his fingertips, his brunette beauty stirred and was shortly after that, awoken.

She glanced in his direction and smiled, exclaiming a long, almost satiated sigh. Eli, in his turn, placed a gentle kiss on her bare back. The moment was heavenly, ethereal. The air comfortable and silent, music calmly reverberating through the air. The vibe between them mutual, filled with passion, lust, desire, but also gratification and satisfaction. The lounge music made their bodies relax and their minds dance smoothly and swiftly.

He turned slowly, his leg sliding up hers, his fingers meeting dark brown, slightly curled hair. He left a trail of kisses towards her neck. She raised herself partly, her elbows pushing down into the mattress, the silk sheets brushing against their naked bodies.

"How about some food?"

He smiled, wrinkles in his face, desire in his eyes. He kissed her shortly and as he parted from her lips, she leant in for more. As she always did.

"Sounds good."

"Chinese?"

"Sounds even better."

She got up from the king sized bed, stretching her body shortly before putting on a dark blue, white flowers covered robe. For a moment, he could silently admire her body. Long, strong, sleek and tranquil muscles dancing over her back. The white, porcelain skin almost unbroken except for the few scars that she received during her time with the CIA. Her round shoulders slender but muscular, as her arms and legs. She was an expert in self defense, even knew some karate. But her body remained feminen, smooth and well curved, hips too small for an hour-glass figure (But so terribly sexy, nonetheless...), her attitude probably too tough and raw for a real lady anyway.

He had known about the CIA, for she had told him. As she had told him a lot of things, but it was never about her old job, never about her former employer, never about the things she had done or seen. As colleagues, they knew of each other talents, their occupation. Most people would be scared to realise that a person close to them could read everything of their faces, they would turn and run and hide, far away. Perhaps they would even look disgusted, shocked, or even afraid. Not her, no, not her.

They had met officially shortly after they collided with their reciprocal feelings, looks and body language (Facial expression, I knew they held a purpose...). To some, it makes everything harder, more difficult. To them, it provided enough cover to hold their own secrets, knowing boundaries, knowing where to go and where not to go. She promised she wouldn't lie, she promised she would tell him she didn't want to talk about it. She tried not to lie, and she did her very best. Lines, drawn into the sand, boundaries, together, they protected those lines from being faded away by the crushing ocean.

He lingered in his thoughts for some time, his hands playing with the softness of the mattress, the smoothness of the sheets, his nose still smelling her scent and the scent of passionate love-making (The sex is brilliant... Absolutely brilliant... Best ever...). After a couple of minutes, she returned to the bedroom. He immediately spotted the long legs that came out from under the robe and the playful smile across her delicate face.

"Food's here in fifteen minutes."

"Oh, what to do with the time that is been given to us?"

Graciously, she approached the bed and its seductive captive. He stretched out his hand welcomely and she slid back into the bed, pressing her body against his. She caressed his face while she studied him, laying in his arms, his chest going up and down slowly and steady. For a moment, he wondered how he became so lucky. Then, sharply, doubts came. Was that a lie he could see on her face? Did she-? Her hand went up and cupped the side of his face. As she locked her eyes with his, his weary mind was released from the grey clouds and the doubt. She smiled, genuinely, before placing her lips on his. Genuinely.

Fifteen minutes wasn't long enough and afterwards, their lusting hands still hadn't found peace, their breathing wouldn't catch up with them and the sexual tension between them, had only increased. Food didn't arrive for another ten minutes and they passed their time with seemingly pointless conversations.

Dinner was eaten in bed, they stole each other's glances, smiling wickedly once their eyes intertwined. Her toes slid up and down his leg, teasing the skin on his stomach. They were teenagers, desperate, childish teenagers, foolish and unchained and free. She held the look in her eyes that he craved long to see looking at him. And he couldn't help but smile whenever she looked at him like that.

The food lost its warmth and he tossed on the floor, playfully smacking her leg away as he moved forwards and leant over her. Their lips found each other, he could feel her melt under his hot and amorous body. Her arms were wrapped around his neck, his legs around his waist and she pushed the right buttons to end right where they wanted to end up. It was a perfect bliss.

He didn't seduce her. She did. Effortless, unashamed and openly, but she did. And he didn't mind. Not at all.


	3. He didn't know her

He couldn't even look at her. He stood there, in the middle of the chilly room, right in front of her like two lions facing each other after being released recently. She looked gorgeous, the green dress wrapped around her body, her eyes wide and open, pupils slightly dilated, her lips even redder than usual. And he couldn't even look at her.

It was Sunday. Since Friday night they hadn't done much else besides walking around (Half-...) naked, enjoying each other's company, eating and consuming alcohol, having sex (Everywhere... The kitchen island, the table, his desk, the floor, under the shower, in the bathtub...) and having small talk. They laughed constantly, little smiles painted on their faces, the echoes of their laughs never really fading away in the room (Merry, merry people...). They had built a castle together, where they were safe and sound, away from harm and the lies that the world told. Outside, it was cold and cruel and dangerous. Inside, it was safe, it was good and pure bliss and ethereal harmony. Outside was bad. Inside was good.

The curves of her body were scars on his eyes, imprinted onto his brain, erasable not even by death. He would always feel her soft, delicate skin underneath his fingertips, her kind and passionate lips against his, her hungry, lusting hands all over his body, his face, her big brown chocolate eyes staring right at him, absorbing him. She had told him she loved him. Not with actual spoken words, but he could read it off her face, as could she. No longer did they walk hand in hand, secretly afraid that someone might see them. No, heads high, swinging and singing as they walked. No longer did they look away from each other in other's company. No, they would smile and seduce and laugh and locked eyes shamelessly.

Slowly, as if drawing a tattoo, she was scratched onto his heart, never fading away. But the ink was too black. The room was too big. The temperature was too low. It was all too perfect (Nothing lasts forever...).

They both denied it. She saw it coming, she felt the monsters underneath her skin, scratching away her feelings, destroying her heart, awakening her conscious. Her fingers itched and it wouldn't stop. She could scratch until her skin bled and she had lost all feeling in her fingertips, it wouldn't stop. Constantly nagging at her like a rugged blade flashing in the corner of her eyes on the moments she felt like it was finally fading.

But she couldn't tell him. Every time she had mentally prepared herself (You always see that when you already know...), she would look at his handsome face, his trusting, loving green eyes, sparkling at her, setting her on fire. So she would smile at him, kiss him deeply (She was such a great kisser...) and perhaps even hide in his arms. She told him everything was fine. It really wasn't. She was starting to get sicker because her behaviour and felt even more depressed when he would hold her in his arms, whispering softly and stroking through her hair before she fell asleep. She was going to destroy him, she knew for sure. She didn't know, however, the damage that he would or could do to her.

Oh, their time together had been sweet, candy sugar sweet. All good times come to an end, he knew. Yet he was so sure, so utterly convinced that this time it would all last and stay perfect, that the castle they built, shielded them from the outside. But it blinded them inside. In the end, she knew she would be the grease stain on his favourite shirt and he would be the blood that decorated her mind.

It happened in a split of a second. She dropped her guard, for only a short moment. She couldn't help it, there was something in his eyes. She reckoned Lightman had said something, but that something cut deeper in her lover that she originally thought. And she couldn't keep her mask on anymore, he suddenly saw right through it, as if someone opened the curtains in their castle and he saw the ray of light on her lying face. Suddenly, there was no place to run to, he had crossed him arms in protection. Suddenly, she could no longer hide for the lighting beam expelled all the shadows. Suddenly, they could no longer flee and rest behind their statue of solid truth. Suddenly, the glue that he used to keep his heart together, failed and it all felt to bits and pieces. They were mirrors in a storm, teenage kids throwing rocks at it knowing that they wouldn't hit it. But, suddenly, they got hit and they fell down.

So he found them on a Sunday afternoon. It was only a tiny hint, Lightman would be proud of him. He wondered if the crazy Brit would have even seen it. And he couldn't even look at her. He stood there, in the middle of the chilly room, right in front of her. She looked gorgeous, the green dress wrapped around her body, her eyes wide and open, pupils slightly dilated, her lips even redder than usual. And he couldn't even look at her.

Their relationship had been built on trust. Their castle was founded on their unspoken pact not to lie. Out of the blue, that all instantly vaporized and nothing was left. She would speak to him, yell at him, desperately cry out in vain to make him believe or to just make him open his eyes and look at her, stop that running train of devastating thoughts.

She lied. She broke his heart. She grabbed a knife and stabbed it in his chest until his heart was unable to repair itself. She literally brought him down on his knees, his back against the wall, his hand covering his mouth. She was breathtaking. And so she took his breath away.

She lied. What they had, was a lie. Her love for him, was a lie. Who she was, was a lie. He didn't know her. She was one of the many strangers he walked past every day. He didn't know her.

But she knew him. And perhaps, perhaps that was what hurt the most.


End file.
